Pass the Puns, Please

It's Sunday morning and I am red-eyed and bleary. My darling hubs was a tad excited last night when his home team, the Oilers, delivered the death knell to the Ducks. As a hockey wife, this means I have at least four more game nights to enjoy my foot rubs and Cheetos...

My new baby, Nixon, is a darling. He hasn't made a peep. He has the worst puppy breath and man, does his flatulence stink. I have spent the last 24 hours stooped over, kissing, petting and wiping up pee. And let's not forget the little surprises he likes to leave beside my husband's side of the bed. But it is official, I am converted. I am a dog lover. I'm on the look out for a puppy purse so I may pretend to be Paris. (Minus the millions and the hair weave.)

So I leave you this ditty. As I am in a particularly festive mood, think of it as my present to you. No refunds. No returns!


A panda walks into a restaurant, sits down and orders a sandwich. He eats the sandwich, pulls out a gun and shoots the waiter dead. As the panda stands up to go, the manager shouts, "Hey! Where are you going? You just shot my waiter and you didn't pay for your sandwich!"

The panda yells back at the manager, "Hey man, I'm a PANDA! Look it up!"

The manager opens his dictionary and sees the following definition for panda: "A tree dwelling marsupial of Asian origin, characterized by distinct black and white coloring. Eats shoots and leaves."